


The Perfect Dish

by Jem (allonsymous)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Email AU, F/M, Fluff, Food Critic, Romance, blog au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:30:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsymous/pseuds/Jem
Summary: Rose Tyler, restaurant review blogger of local fame, visits a little hole in the wall run by a man called John Smith.  But her assessment isn't as favorable as he would like...





	1. Chapter 1

_Hello, readers._

_We’ve entered the fourth week of October, and although my intention was to continue my search for the perfect sticky toffee pudding, my dessert train was derailed when I walked through the doors of a little hole in the wall known simply as The Blue Box._ _On a crisp fall day, with the leaves especially golden against the backdrop of a bright blue sky, I was ready for something sweet and warm, with perhaps a cup of coffee alongside. But when I perused the menu, I was caught off guard by three little words._

_Batter fried chips._

_If you’ve been following my blog for more than a minute, you know how I feel about chips. In fact, I performed a word search on all my entries for this month, and only three of them made no mention of those heavenly little golden wedges of glory. Come to think of it, I might have to go back and fix those posts, because now they feel a bit drab._

_But for now, I’ll stick to the subject at hand._

_The Blue Box is a quaint little place. You almost wouldn’t notice it, except for the brightly painted blue door with little square windows of frosted glass at the top, which I recognized as a replica of those old blue police boxes they used to have all over London. It had a sign above the door that said The Blue Box, crowned with a white lamp, which all suited the theme. It was delightfully charming, and drew me right in._

_Inside was all rose and copper, accented with aqua lamps. The floors were a simple metal grate, which was a bit strange, and perhaps a bit too industrial—although, to be fair, I’ve never actually been inside one of those police boxes. I’ll have to do further research to determine if an aesthetic similarity exists._

_Here is what I do know about The Blue Box. It’s a fledgeling shop, run by a young chef named John Smith, who also happens to be a Doctor of the sciences. His reason for this sudden, and seemingly random addition to his already robust career, remains a mystery. I tried to arrange an interview with Doctor Smith, but he was sadly unable to make an appearance at my table. Not really the best policy when it comes to serving a food critic, but I’m willing to give him a break on that point, since he is rather new to the industry._

_As previously mentioned, I stopped in hoping to aquire some sticky toffee pudding, but when I saw Batter Fried Chips on the menu, I couldn’t resist. And since I was going for an appetizer, I thought I might as well order an entree as well. And what goes best with chips? Fish, of course! So I ordered a plate of breaded, pan fried cod._

_I’ll get to the chips in a moment, but I’d like to give the cod some attention first, because I like to end on a positive note. And while the cod was beautifully fried, and the plating was lovely, it was altogether ordinary. Not bad, exactly, but it didn’t really leave much of an impression. It had excellent texture; the breading was crispy, not soggy or greasy at all, and the fish was tender and flaky. But Doctor Smith would do well to experiment with seasonings on this dish if he wants to elevate it from mediocre to spectacular. Truly, the execution was spot on, other than the seasonings. And as I’ve mentioned a thousand times in the past, if it’s not seasoned perfectly, it’s not a good dish._

_As for the chips, however…_

_Oh my god._

_Heaven on a plate. Perfectly fried, perfectly seasoned, with chopped fresh oregano, and sprinkled with feta cheese and lemon juice. I probably put on ten pounds just looking at them, but I can’t say I regret it for a moment. Those chips were to die for, and I think I might have to go back tomorrow for another fix, because I am hooked._

_It turned out The Blue Box doesn’t serve sticky toffee pudding, but I ordered a slice of their banoffee pie. Doctor Smith really knows his way around a banana, apparently, because I nearly ordered a second piece to take home with me. But after all those chips, I thought maybe I’d better pace myself._

_All right, folks, here’s your final score._

_Curb Appeal: 4_  
_Decor: 3_  
_Appetizer: 5_  
_Entree: 2_  
_Dessert: 5_  
_Service: 1 (really, someone should tell him not to leave a food critic hanging…)_  
_Total score: 20 Stars (30 possible)_

_An acceptable score. I’ll probably be back at some point and see how they’re coming along. And hopefully Doctor Smith will be good enough to come to my table next time._

_This is the Chippie Chickadee, signing off._


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, Doc! You seen this review?” Jack shoved his phone in front of John’s face, effectively blocking his previously unobstructed view of the physics journal he was in the middle of perusing.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to read?” he said with a scowl, pushing Jack’s phone away.

“Yeah, but you’re reading the wrong thing. You’ll wanna see this, trust me.” He pushed his phone towards John again, a little less forcefully this time, but with definite insistence.

John sighed and dropped the publication on the desk, adjusting his glasses as he took the phone out of Jack’s hand and started reading.

> _The Chippie Chickadee_  
>  _Rose Tyler | Food Enthusiast | Restaurant Reviewer | Eating my way through time and space_  
>  _Friday, October 27, 2017_  
>  _The Blue Box…_  
> 

  
“Oh!” John sat up, suddenly aware of what he was reading. “Rose Tyler came here?” He looked up at Jack, wide eyed.

“Yeah, but don’t get too excited. She only gave you 20 out of 30 possible.”

John’s forehead creased, his mouth turned into a sour frown. “What? Why?” He glanced back at the screen, scanning the score chart. “Wait… she gave me 1 for service?”

“Because you didn’t come to her table.” Jack folded his arms across his chest. “John, you gotta greet the critic when they come to your restaurant!”

John cringed. Jack only called him John when he disapproved of something he’d done.

“Yeah, but what if I’m not here? I’ve been at the university all week! Barely even popped in other than to make sure the place isn’t going down in flames. Donna’s been running things in my absence.”

“Yeah, I figured that,” Jack said with an eye roll.

“Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?” John said defensively.

“Did you see what Ms. Tyler ordered?” Jack leaned over the desk, staring pointedly at John. “Pan. Fried. Cod.” He straightened. “Your sister changed the menu while you were gone.”

John’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh no. No… she didn’t. She served the cod. The bloody cod!”

Jack flopped down in the chair opposite John’s desk. “Well, it wasn’t all bad. She said it was perfectly cooked.”

“Yeah, but the seasoning…” John moaned in dismay.

“You mean lack of seasoning.”

“Blimey, she’s so attached to that dish, I don’t get it. She won’t let me touch it. That’s why I didn’t let her put it on the menu in the first place!”

“You really should have seen this coming, Doc.”

“Just a pinch of salt,” he muttered.

“You know how she can get.”

“Is that so much to ask? A little salt? Maybe even some pepper, I dunno…”

“She’s so stubborn she makes mules look like Labrador retrievers.”

“I wish she’d just meet me halfway on this one,” John sighed, dropping the phone on the desktop and resting his chin in his hand.

“Well, look on the bright side. She loved your chips.”

“Did she?” John asked, still subdued, but faintly hopeful.

“Yep! And your banoffi pie.”

“Well, who wouldn’t love my banoffi pie?” The corner of John’s mouth tugged up into half a smile.

Jack stood and gave him a comforting slap on the shoulder. “Come on, now. It wasn’t an altogether bad review. And she sang some pretty high praises over those chips, you’ll probably have an influx of people coming for those.”

“Maybe I should email her,” John said thoughtfully. “Explain what happened.”

“John, no. Don’t.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms with a frown. “Why not?” he said defensively.

“Because!”

John rolled his eyes. “That’s not a reason!”

“John, listen. The world of food criticism is a very delicate balance. She’s got a lot of readers. If you rub her the wrong way, she could blow you out of the water, and you’d be kissing The Blue Box goodbye.”

\---

> _Dear Ms. Tyler,_  
>  _I’m sorry to intrude on your quiet evening. Although, come to think of it, you probably don’t check your email in the evenings. So forget I said that._  
> 

  
John sighed and hammered the backspace key. 

> _Dear Ms. Tyler,_  
>  _Or is it miss? Mrs.? …Mr.?_  
> 

  
He groaned, hitting the backspace again. 

> _Dear Ms. Tyler,_  
> 

  
“For god’s sake,” he muttered, tapping backspace again. Maybe Jack was right. He sighed, shaking out his hands and wetting his lips nervously. Why was he nervous? It wasn’t like he was having a conversation on the phone—an activity he was painfully awkward at. He wiggled his fingers and went back to typing. 

> _Dear Rose Tyler,_  
>  _My name is Doctor John Smith, and…_  
> 

  
“Hmm… too pretentious.” Tap tap tap. 

> _Dear Rose Tyler,_  
>  _This is John Smith from The Blue Box. You know, that little restaurant you visited last week. I wanted to thank you for coming, and I’m pleased to hear you enjoyed the chips and pie. I’ve spent years perfecting those two recipes in particular, and it was most gratifying to hear that my hard work paid off at your table._  
> 

  
John scratched his neck, chewing the inside of his lip thoughtfully. 

> _I’d like to apologize for not being able to say hello when you were my guest. As you mentioned in your review, I’m “a doctor of the sciences”, and I’ve been away all week working at the university, so I left the restaurant in the care of my sister, Donna. Honestly, I would love to meet you, and give you the proper Blue Box experience. It would be my honor, and of course, my treat as well._  
>  _Sincerely,_  
>  _John Smith_  
> 

\---

> _Doctor Smith, I'd love to visit you at your restaurant again, if for no other reason than to enjoy another order of chips and pie. Would Wednesday do? Say, 2 pm? –Rose_  
> 

\---

> _Dear Rose,_  
>  _I have to say, I was not expecting so immediate a response. However, as much as Wednesday at 2 would be lovely, I had something else in mind. I really want to make things up to you, so how about a lock in, and a seat at the chef’s table? My staff and I will serve you a proper five course meal, and you can ask me all the questions you like while you watch us cook. Have you got dinner plans for Monday? That’s our early close day. Perfect for an after hours service. Can we expect you at 8pm?_  
>  _Sincerely,_  
>  _John_  
> 

\---

>   
>  _John, I would be delighted. 8pm Monday then. Ta! –Rose_  
> 

  



	3. Chapter 3

“See? What did I tell you.” This time it was John’s turn to shove his phone under the nose of his friend.

Jack quickly scanned the email conversation. “Huh…” he said, genuinely surprised. “Wow.”

John scowled. “Wow? That’s all you can say? After your speech about the world of culinary criticism?”

“Hey, I stand by my original statement. Just ‘cause the Chippie Chickadee doesn’t fit the mold doesn’t mean the mold doesn’t exist.”

John rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Anyway, I need you to help me plan the evening. I’ve got the perfect dish in mind, but I want everything about the experience to be on point.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “'On point’? What is this, a date?”

“What? No!” John felt his cheeks color. “For god’s sake, I don’t even know what she looks like. She might be an 80 year old woman.”

“Age-ist.”

“Stop it. Will you help me?”

“Sure. Whatcha need?”

“I need you to take Donna on a date.”

Jack burst out laughing. “Wh-what?”

“Seriously, Jack! She can’t be there, she’ll ruin everything.”

“What makes you think she’d even want to go on a date with me?”

“Well,” John said, looking him up and down. “Not to pet your ego, but have you seen yourself?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “I’m kinda seeing someone right now.”

John’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth spread into a grin. “What? That’s great! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jack shrugged. “Early days. His names Ianto.”

“Damn him!” John muttered. “All right, help me think of a plan B.”

“I could fix her up. How is she about blind dates?”

John cringed. “Ehhh… errrr… uhhh… maybe?”

Jack laughed. “You can say no, god…”

He grimaced. “It’s just, she’s got a bad track record with blind dates, and last time went so badly she swore she'd—and I quote—'pull her own eyeballs out through her nostrils’ before ever doing that again, so…” he shrugged. “But, that was three months ago, and it’s not exactly the first time she’s sworn off blind dates, so… I dunno… I mean…?”

“What about a double date? Or a group date? I could gather up Ianto, Martha and Mickey, and this guy I know from work. Sort of a triple date, dinner and a movie thing? I could even tell her she’d be doing me a favor. Butter her up a little.”

“Oooh, she does like buttering…” John frowned. “Eh, that came out wrong.”

Jack laughed. “Hey, this is me you’re talking to.”

\---

_Dear Readers,_  
_Well, something unexpected happened last night. I was getting ready for bed—right in the middle of brushing my teeth, in fact—when my computer made that little ping of announcement, informing me I’d gotten an email._  
_I wasn’t really expecting anything in particular, though I do get emails from readers from time to time (thank you!), and I sort of thought maybe it was one of those. I rinsed my toothbrush and went to my laptop, and what did I find?_

_An email from Doctor Smith of The Blue Box._

_I admit to groaning in dismay, because I rather expected a tongue lashing. This wasn’t the first email I’d gotten from a restaurant owner or chef after giving a reluctantly unfavorable review (honestly, I don’t find pleasure in that, but it is part of my job). I sighed and opened up the email._

_So, any bets on what he wrote? Scathing insults? Grovelling? Rude comparisons about my mother and farm animals?_

_Nope! Get this. He invited me to dinner._

_In all my time as a restaurant reviewer, I can’t count the number of hurtful things I’ve read. I’ve even received an empty threat or two. But this, my friends, is the first time my negative review resulted in a date._

_Oh, all right. Not a date. Not really. I mean, I haven’t even seen him. He might be some 80 year old professor type for all I know, complete with elbow patches._

_So here’s the actual scoop. I’ve been invited to a lock in at The Blue Box. Doctor Smith and his kitchen staff are going to serve me a five course meal at the Chef’s Table, and I get to watch them work. Oh, and ask all the questions I want, of course._

_I know, it sounds like bribery, doesn’t it?_

_Truthfully though, he was very gracious apologetic for not being able to meet me. Turns out he’s been away, so I was a little too quick to judge him on that point. But he simply wants to make it up to me. And, being a self-employed, independent restaurant review blogger, there aren’t a lot of perks to my job. So when someone offers me a free five course meal in a quiet, empty restaurant—and a chef show to top it all off—well, how could I refuse?  
The dinner in question takes place Monday night. Wish me luck!_

_–The Chippie Chickadee_


	4. Chapter 4

Jack listened to the digital purr of the ringtone as he waited for the tell-tale click of a connection. One… two… three… fo—click!

“Hello?”

“Heyyyyy, Donna!” he said crooningly. “It’s me, Jack.”

There was a brief silence on the other end before Donna’s brash tone finally came through. “Jack? Whatcha callin’ me for? Oh, don’t tell me you and John are having a row…”

“What? No! God, you make us sound like a couple.”

“Well, I don’t know what you two get up to.”

“Wouldn’t he be the one calling you about a row?”

“Well, that depends on if he’s having a row with both of us at the same time.”

Jack stifled a laugh, but ignored her comment. “Listen, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Oh, god…” The dread in her voice was palpable.

“Pleeeease?” he pleaded.

There was a muffled sigh. “What is it?”

“Well, I’m sorta seeing someone, and I wanted him to meet some of my friends. Problem is, we’ve got a bit of a third wheel situation. My buddy, he needs a date.”

“A blind date? Bloody hell…”

“Noooo! It won’t be like that, really. I can vouch for him, he’s a good friend of mine. But he’s new here, one of my old friends from across the pond. He doesn’t know anybody. So it’s gonna be me and Ianto—that’s my guy—Martha and Mickey, and he’s gonna be the odd guy out.”

“Why can’t you take John with you?” she whined.

“I already asked him, but you know how busy he is. Of course it was a no-go.”

Donna let out a moan of reluctance.

“Come on, Donna. Give a guy a break, please? I’ll buy you dinner, and the movie ticket, popcorn, whatever—the works. All you have to do is show up, and who knows? You might actually have fun.”

“Uuuuuuugh, fine.”

“Yes! Fantastic, thank you. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, a big one. Huge. Like shopping spree huge. Or clean my flat for a month huge.”

“Whatever it takes, honey.”

“Ooh, don’t let your bloke hear you call me that.”

There was a confused pause. “I call everyone that.”

\---

> _Dear Rose Tyler,_  
>  _This is John Smith again. Well, you probably already knew that, since emails show a return address._

John hit the backspace key and stared at the now blank email box. It wasn't exactly that emails were hard. A hell of a lot easier than phones. But he couldn’t help asking himself if it were really necessary. 

_Of course it’s necessary. I need to know if she has any food allergies before I cook for her. It’s a perfectly reasonable question. I mean, granted, she is a food critic, so her diet probably isn’t too restricted. Still, you never know if there’s some obscure thing that might cause her to resemble an angry blowfish…_

> _Dear Rose Tyler_

He hesitated, then tapped the backspace six times.

> _Dear Rose,_  
>  _I just have a quick question for you. Have you any food allergies I ought to be aware of?_

John stared at the screen, chin in hand, forehead creased in frustration.

_This is ridiculous._

He slammed the laptop shut.

\---

> _Dear John,_

_Oh god, Rose, you’re not writing a dear john letter to a man you’ve never met. You just want to ask him if he’d like you to bring anything. It’s not complicated._

She tapped the backspace key.

> _Hi, John!_

_Hmm… too enthusiastic?_

> _Hi, John. This is Rose Tyler. Well, obviously, you can see that, it’s email._

She groaned and held down the backspace key until the email box was blank again. Washing her hands down her face, she sighed before returning her fingers to the keyboard. They sat motionless for several moments before they started their tapping once more.

> _Hello, Doctor. How are you?_

_What am I doing?_ She stared at the blinking cursor for a few moments, chewing her bottom lip, then read the words again. Her hand reached for the backspace key, but stopped in mid-air, hovering over the keyboard reluctantly.

On sudden impulse, she moved her hand to the mouse and clicked the send button.

_Oh my god, Rose, what did you just do?_

She quickly closed the laptop and jumped out of her seat, stalking across the bedroom and running her fingers through her hair before turning around to stare at the machine, chewing on a thumbnail nervously.

_You idiot._

\---

John was in bed with the covers pulled up, nodding off to the pages of Harry Potter, when his phone chirped at him from the nightstand and pulled him out of his stupor. He hummed sleepily and rubbed his eyes under his reading glasses, then set them straight before grabbing his phone.

_1 email from… Rose Tyler?_

He sat up, wide awake now, but his thumb hovered over the screen hesitantly. What if this was a cancellation email? He felt his heart sink slightly as he tapped the screen.

> _Hello, Doctor. How are you?_

His left eyebrow rose slowly. That was definitely not what he was expecting. He read it again, then twice more. 

_Yep. She wants to know how I’m doing. And she called me Doctor._

He smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Rose chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be updating for a bit because I'm in the throes of moving. Thanks for your patience!

John set down his phone and threw back the covers, getting out of bed long enough to grab his laptop from the desk. He settled back on the mattress and fired up the email program.

> Rose!
> 
> I wasn't expecting to hear from you. I'm doing well, thank you for asking, and I'm looking forward to cooking for you on Monday. How are you? I hope all is well.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> John
> 
> P.S. You may call me Doctor if you like, but don't feel like you have to. John is perfectly acceptable. It did make me smile though, if I'm honest.

-

> Well, if it makes you smile, I will continue calling you Doctor. I'm doing fine myself, ta. I'm sorry to email so late, I hope I'm not bothering you. I actually sat down to ask you if you wanted me to bring anything on Monday, but then I realized that was silly, and just said hi instead.

\- 

> Rose,
> 
> You can bring anything you like, but the only thing I require from you is your presence. I admit to being curious though. What were you thinking of bringing? Oh, and you aren't bothering me. I was extremely busy last week, but I find myself having more room to breathe this week, and I'm even catching up on a little reading.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> John

John slammed the backspace key repeatedly. _“Yours?” That's a bit forward, isn't it? Still... sincerely seems a bit academic..._

> Amiably,
> 
> The Doctor ;)

-

> I confess, you are remarkably entertaining, Doctor. Your emails are so carefully crafted, it's like reading a letter. I like that. People are so casual with their emails these days. Well. I'm one of those people, haha! Anyway, I think at the time I was considering a bottle of wine, but that's more the sort of thing you do if you're going to someone's house for dinner. I'm probably just supposed to show up with my notebook and my tongue ready to score the evening.

Rose smashed down the backspace key and felt her cheeks burning. _Oh my god..._

> I'm probably just supposed to show up ready to judge the meal.

-

> Rose,
> 
> Of course, I wouldn't try and stop you if you pulled out a score chart, but honestly, this is just meant to be a nice evening for you. I promise, I'm not trying to butter you up or add a few bonus points to my review. I just feel bad that you didn't receive the welcome you deserve, and I want to make it up to you, that's all. Leave your professional side at home and just enjoy the evening.
> 
> Honestly, when was the last time you dined out for fun?
> 
> With much curiosity,
> 
> The Doctor
> 
> P.S. There was a short unit on professional letter writing my first year at Oxford. I guess it stuck.

-

> You went to Oxford? Of course you went to Oxford, what am I saying? You're a scientist and a professor. At least, I think you're a professor. You mentioned working at “the university”. Is it Oxford you work at now? Your credentials are intimidating, I must say. I haven't even got my a-levels.
> 
> The last time I dined out for fun? Well, my job is fun! So unless it's a bad dining experience, I always enjoy myself. But the last time I dined at a restaurant without my little notebook? God, I can't even remember, to be honest. That sounds sad, doesn't it? I mean, my mum takes me out once a year on my birthday, but much as I love my mum, sometimes that's more stressful than my normal job. Haha!

-

> Rose,
> 
> I'm not a professor, actually. I simply have access to the labs there. I also mentor some of the first year students who have a particular interest and aptitude for physics and astronomy. I was there last week helping three of them do research for a presentation on time travel theory.
> 
> Please, don't feel intimidated! I didn't go for the credentials. I just wanted to learn. A-levels or not, you're obviously an incredibly intelligent person. Don't put yourself down just because you don't have a silly little document. You're much more valuable than that. I love reading your blog, actually. You have a very poetic, yet conversational writing style that I find quite charming.
> 
> Since you can't remember the last time you dined out for fun—birthdays with mum excluded—I insist you leave your little notebook at home and just enjoy a meal with a friend.
> 
> Assuming we are friends, that is. Are we?
> 
> Most expectantly,
> 
> The Doctor

-

> Yes, definitely friends. :) And thanks for the kind words. You seem like such a nice person, I'm not surprised to hear you give back to your college community by being a mentor. But oh my god, how do you find enough time to do so much? You seem so busy, what made you want to open a restaurant on top of everything else?

-

> Rose,
> 
> Science is my occupation—my passion, really. But cooking is my hobby. It's something to do for fun, and also a way for me to decompress mentally. When I'm working on a difficult problem, or find myself backed in a corner by something I can't make sense of, cooking serves as both a distraction and a method of letting my subconscious work out the mystery. Sometimes focusing too much on the conundrum makes it even more puzzling.
> 
> But, when you're a single bloke, you end up wasting a lot of food that way.

John stared at the screen for several thoughtful moments, his hand moseying towards the backspace key. _“Single bloke.” Is that weird? That's not weird. ...Is it?_ He sighed nervously, chewing his lip, but pulled his hand away from the backspace key and resumed typing.

> Anyway, I also employ my sister, so it serves as a livelihood for her as well. In fact, she makes more than me! But don't tell her that. Wait, she does payroll, she already knows. Haha! She takes care of the business end of things, which I find to be a total nightmare. As far as I'm concerned, anyone that willingly manages bills, books, payroll, taxes, licensing, and probably other stuff I don't even realize... they deserve way more than I do.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> The Doctor

-

> Doctor, unless you're making this up, you're quite extraordinary.

-

> I'm not, really.

-

> You're not making this up, or you're not extraordinary?

-

> Well... I'm not making this up. ;)

-

> So you admit, you are extraordinary.

-

> I hope I am, but I think that's for others to decide, not me.

-

> Well, I'm someone else.

-

> I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions then.

-

> You've given up the formal letter writing.

-

> I'm feeling a little less formal, I guess.
> 
> But Rose, we've spent entirely too much time talking about me. That's not fair, is it?

-

> I'm sorry, Doctor, I'm just in the habit of being the one asking questions.

-

> But I'm dying to know more about you. You fascinate me.

-

> I couldn't possibly! There's a reason nobody ever asks me anything, other than my opinion on where to get the best pasta.

-

> Well, that's a valid question. However, I was hoping for something more personal.

-

> Like what, my shoe size?

-

> Ha! Okay, I laughed out loud at that one. What made you decide to become a food critic?

-

> Honestly? It was a job.

-

> Well, you said your job is fun, so what's your favorite bit?

-

> The chips, obviously.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the age we live in.

John was scrolling through his mobile in the office of The Blue Box while picking at a serving of chips, when Jack came bursting through the door so unexpectedly that he nearly dropped his phone. He let out a little squeak as he juggled it back into his grip, relieved that he didn't drop it on the hard grate floors.

“Hey, Doc! Jeez, you're jumpy, what gives?”

John glared. “You just startled me, that's all, clomping in here like a team of horses in a marble ballroom, blimey...” he said, hastily shielding his phone screen, but not before Jack took notice.

“Whatcha reading?” he asked, stealing a chip and popping it in his mouth.

“Nothing.”

“Baloney, you never read nothing.”

“You don't know what I read or don't read!”

“Fine, whatever, you don't have to get defensive.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Just touchin' bases.”

“Did you talk to Donna?” John asked hopefully.

“Yep! All taken care of. Monday is all yours, Doc, so feel free to break out the candlelight and smooth jazz.” He bounced his eyebrows teasingly as John's face turned bright red.

“For god's sake, Jack, it's not like that!”

“Oh, come on, it so is. You've had your head in the clouds ever since she wrote you back. Did you find a good picture?”

John furrowed his brow in confusion. “A good what?”

“A good picture of Rose. On your phone?” He grinned knowingly, pointing to the device in John's hands. “You googled her.”

“I... shut up!” His face grew even hotter.

Jack slapped his palms together. “I knew it! What's she look like?”

John sighed. “She... looks to be in good health,” he mumbled noncommittally.

Jack laughed. “So not in her 80s then?”

“I didn't say that. Plenty of healthy 80 year olds out there.” He reached up and undid the top button of his chef jacket and pulled at the collar of his undershirt. “But, as it happens, she's quite a bit younger than that, and... and... rather...”

“Can I see?”

He reluctantly held out his phone, Jack took it and leaned against the desk, scrolling through the page. “Food blogger awards, eh? Did she win?”

“Best new blogger, 2012.”

He reached the bottom of the article, where a series of photos depicted the night's winners. Rose Tyler was the fifth photo down. 

“Wow!” He glanced up at John, eyebrows sky high. “She is hot!”

John frowned in distaste. “Not the most gallant way of putting it, but... yes, she's quite... she's rather...”

“Hot?”

John sighed. “Way out of my league.”

“Nonsense. You're adorable.” 

John shot him an annoyed glance before rolling his eyes.

Jack nudged him with his shoe. “Did you talk to her again?”

“As it happens, yes, she emailed me last night.” John finally allowed himself a little smile.

There was a pause as Jack waited for more, which was evidently not forthcoming. He poked John in the shoulder. “Well, what did she say?”

John shrugged. “She just... asked me how I was.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “That's it? No mention of Monday or business talk?”

“Nope. Just, 'hello, Doctor, how are you?'”

“She calls you Doctor?” Jack's face spread into a broad grin. “Well if that isn't flirting, I don't know what is.”

“She was just being polite... probably.”

“And you guys chatted?”

“Yeah, for about an hour.”

“You should call her!” Jack coaxed, setting the phone on the desk and folding his arms across his chest casually.

“Don't be daft, I can't call her.”

“Why not? You're already emailing, why's the phone so much different?”

John rolled his eyes slightly. “I don't have her number.”

“Well, that shouldn't be hard to find.”

“Nah, feels weird. Too forward. Besides, me and phones...”

Jack laughed. “Suit yourself. You'll meet in a couple of days anyway.”

John scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. “She probably has a boyfriend.”

“Has she mentioned a boyfriend?”

“No, but...”

“If she had a boyfriend, she'd have asked you about bringing him to dinner.”

“Think so?”

“Yeah. Besides, 'hello, Doctor, how are you?' totally out of the blue and for no reason? That is not the email of a woman who's taken.”

John chewed the inside of his lip. “Maybe...” he finally conceded. He paused before adding, “I... mentioned I was single.” He cringed as the words left his mouth, hastily adding, “in passing.”

Jack's teasing grin softened. “Wow, you really do like her.”

John washed his hands down his face. “I wish I hadn't googled her. Blimey, it feels so... invasive.”

Jack laughed. “Everyone googles everyone. It's the age we live in.”

“Still though.” John suddenly looked up. “Wait. Everyone? So you're saying...”

“Yep! Dollars to donuts, she's googled you too.”

John's eyes bulged. “Oh god, I hope she doesn't find my first year pictures...”

“Why?”

“I hadn't really grown into my arms and legs yet. Sorta looked like a twelve year old on stilts 'til I was well into my twenties.”

Jack laughed out loud. “Okay, now I'm gonna google you.”

 

-

> Hello, Doctor.
> 
> I have a confession to make. I googled you. Is that weird?

Rose sighed and hit delete before slamming her laptop closed and resting her face on its surface with a frustrated groan. 

_Gotta admit, though, he is fit. That hair..._

She felt her face flush as she pushed her chair back and headed to the loo to brush her teeth.


	7. Chapter 7

> Dear Rose Tyler,
> 
> I have a confession to make.

John tapped the backspace without energy, pursing his lips glumly.

> Hello, Rose! I just found out you won Best New Blogger a few years back. Congratulations!

“That's the worst thing you've ever written, you dumbo,” he muttered to himself. Tap tap tap.

> Rose, quick question. Will you be bringing a plus one? I'm just wondering if I should be cooking for two.

He felt his face redden as he highlighted the whole message and hit delete.

-

Rose was rinsing her toothbrush when she heard her phone chime, indicating she'd received a message. Her heart quickened. Last time she'd gotten an email at this time of night... She hastily dropped her toothbrush in the holder and exited the loo, plopping down on her bed and grabbing her phone.

_1 email from John Smith_

Her heart quickened as she tapped the message.

> Have you ever googled someone?

Her mouth went dry and her face burned red. _Oh my god..._ She hesitated, biting her bottom lip as she poised her thumbs over the keypad. After a few moments, she finally tapped the screen. 

> Yes.

She hesitated again before adding.

> Is that weird?

Releasing a shaky sigh, she hit the send button.

-

> I hope not, because I have a confession to make. I googled you today.

-

> Did you now?

-

> Congratulations on winning best new blog of 2012.

-

> Thank you! It was 2011 though.

-

> I should email the news site and ask them to correct it on your behalf.

-

> Don't worry about it. It's only a difference of 365 days. Who's counting?

-

> Well, I am now.

-

> Think nothing of it. Now. Allow me to make a confession of my own.

-

> Did you google me?

-

> I did.

-

> Oh god.

-

> I have to ask. Do you still wear your hair like you did at the Astronomy Youth Club fundraiser?

-

> I do. Is that bad?

-

> No, it's lovely. I like it.

-

> What about you? I'm curious.

-

> I'm still blond. Hair's a bit longer now. Of course, you could have just looked at your security footage if you wanted to know what I looked like. Haha!

-

> I never thought of that. Still, it's on a loop, so it's all gone now. Don't tell the burglars.

-

> Your secret's safe with me. So. What have you been up to today?

-

> I was working at The Blue Box all day.

-

> Oh! I almost went today. I'm dying for another plate of those chips. Sorry I didn't now.

-

> It would have been a pleasant surprise to see you.

-

> I thought it might spoil Monday if I dropped by early. That's probably silly.

-

> No, not at all. Although now I feel the pressure's on.

-

> Don't worry, Doctor, I'm leaving my notebook at home. If this is meant to be a nice, fun, relaxing evening for me, then it ought to be that way for you as well. In fact, I'm sort of hoping you'll dine with me.

-

> Really?

-

> Well. I mean, at least some of the time. I assume you will be doing the cooking yourself, so I realize you'll have to be up and about, too.

-

> Yes, I wouldn't dream of leaving the cooking in someone else's hands. But I'll most definitely sit with you when I can. That sounds lovely.

-

> Wonderful. I'm really looking forward to Monday, Doctor. Of course, I'm supposed to be reviewing other chippies over the weekend, but I find myself extraordinarily bored with my work lately, and I keep thinking about The Blue Box. And you. ...And, if I'm completely honest, the chips.

-

> I'm looking forward to it too. I enjoy our chats over email. Chatting in person sounds even better. It sounds perfect, actually. Fantastic. Molto bene.

-

> All right, I'm off to bed. Thanks for emailing me. I was feeling a bit anxious tonight, but somehow you always leave me smiling.

-

> Sorry to hear you were troubled. I'll let you pop off to bed, but if you want to talk, I'm here.

-

> Thanks, Doctor. Nothing to worry about, just little things adding up, you know? Makes for a stressful day.

-

> I hope you get some good rest then. Oh, by the way, I've officially subscribed to your blog. I look forward to reading about your weekend exploits.

-

> Well, I'll keep that in mind when I'm writing about them.

-

> All right, off you go then, Rose Tyler. You need your sleep, and I don't dare be the impediment.

-

> Sleep it is, then. Goodnight, Doctor.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food and flowers.

Saturday, October 28, 2017 

Dear readers, 

I know I promised a review of two new chip shops in the west end, but something strange happened. I went to the restaurants and sat down. I read their menus. I ordered meals and ate them. I paid and left. But I sort of don't remember much of anything about them. Nothing stood out to me in any way. The food was edible, the décor simple. Speedy service, friendly staff, but... 

I was bored. 

In the first shop (no names today, since this is not a formal review), I vaguely recall dark browns and greens, and maybe some big windows. I ate every bite, so I'm sure the food was good, though I can't really recall what it tasted like. My overwhelming impression of the next shop was that it was too hot inside, and there was an odd smell. I ate what at the time seemed a rather unremarkable meat pie, but honestly, I can't remember the flavor well enough to describe it. 

That's not really fair though. The truth is that my mind was preoccupied with a little blue box—which is much bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside—with funny metal grate floors and quirky, curvy pillars, and round lights on the walls, and everything pink and yellow and aquamarine. And inside the blue box is a table with my name on it, and I'm pretty sure a big plate of marvellous chips are sitting there waiting for me. And it's all I can think about. 

So. I'm just going to have to go back to the west end tomorrow. There's nothing else for it. I'll take down a proper review this time. Although I'm not so sure about that pie, as I'm beginning to feel a little unwell. 

Signing off. 

The Chippie Chickadee 

 

\---

_Rose, are you okay?_  


-

_You read my blog I take it?_  


-

_Of course I did. How are you feeling?_  


-

_Awful._  


-

_That bad?_  


-

_Worse._  


-

John sighed and rubbed a stubbly jaw. Poor Rose. Nothing was worse than food poisoning.

Another email from Rose appeared, and he opened it.

-

_I resign._  


-

_Resign?_  


-

_From being a food critic._  


-

_Career ending level of food poisoning? Maybe you need a doctor._  


-

_I admit, that made me laugh. Laughing is bad right now, please stop being funny. ;)_  


-

_I just realized how that sounded. No, I did not mean me, I meant an actual medical doctor. Although, I could come round. I could bring you soup. People bring soup for these things, I think._  


-

_Ugh, please don't mention food._  


-

_Oops, sorry!_  


-

_It's okay, I'm just being silly. I appreciate the offer, really. But this is not the first impression I want to make._  


-

_Fair enough. I wish I could make you feel better._  


-

_Me too. Well... actually, you did. I mean, emotionally. Haha._  


-

_Are you sure you don't need anyone?_  


-

_I'll be okay, really. The worst is over._  


-

_Okay. Get some rest._  


-

_Thanks._  


-

 

He wanted to send her flowers. He wanted to send her big blankets and pillows, and tins of tea, and maybe a few films. But he had no idea where she lived. Asking her for her address would ruin the surprise, but seeking it out himself seemed... well, creepy. It was bad enough he'd googled her.

“What do you do if you want to send someone flowers, but you don't know where they live?”

Jack stared across his plate, eyes slightly hooded, eyebrows sky high. “Pardon?”

John sighed. “If you were going to send someone flowers—”

John grinned teasingly. “Oh my god, you're sending her flowers?!”

“Shut up! She got sick, that's all. It's a gesture.”

Jack laughed. “Keep telling yourself that, Doc.”

“Seriously though,” he pressed, ignoring the remark.

“I'd just hit the biggest flower chain you can find, put in the order, and then tell them it's for Rose Tyler, and that they already have her address on file.”

John's eyebrows shot up. “Really? Would that work?”

“Doc, I guarantee you a woman that beautiful has gotten flowers before. Hitting up the largest florist in town just increases the odds that they have her address already locked in.”

John chuckled. “How did I know you'd have a ready answer?”

Jack just grinned and popped a chip in his mouth. “She gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah..” John said, nodding his head vaguely. He sniffed. “Food poisoning.”

“Ouch.”

“Yup.”

“Comes with the territory, I guess. I mean, food critic's gotta take the bad with the good.”

“Yeah, you know, I used to imagine being a food critic would be fun, but now I'm having second thoughts about that.”

“She gonna be okay by Monday?”

“Dunno. I didn't ask. Hope so.”

“Me too.” Jack ate another chip, then grinned roguishly. “I'd have to beg Donna for another blind date.”


	9. Chapter 9

Sunday morning, John sat at his computer and typed the following email.

> Rose, how are you?

He hit the send button and rested his hand on his chin, staring at the screen for a few minutes before sighing and shutting the computer down.

-

Six hours later, John was staring at his phone, and the empty email box. He tapped the compose button and hastily typed out the following.

> Rose, is everything okay?

He hit send.

-

The rest of the afternoon passed, with no replies. Then the dinner rush hit, and John didn't have time to check his phone for a good two hours. When he finally had a moment, he quickly checked his email.

No new messages.

He hit the compose button again.

> Rose, I'm sorry. I meant well, honestly. I promise, I didn't look you up. A friend of mine suggested--

He sighed and hit the trash icon.

God, he'd really fucked up.

Unless...

He hit the compose button again.

> Rose, what's going on? I'm worried.

-

 

That morning, Rose had awoken with a horrible pain in her stomach, severe enough that she could barely walk to the kitchen and make herself a cup of herbal tea. _God, food poisoning is the worst._ When this was over, she was going to give that restaurant the most scathing review of her career.

She sat at the table and blew on her cup, balking even at the mild smell of the tea, her stomach turning over. She took a deep breath to fight against the nausea, closing her eyes and resting her head in her hands.

There was a knock at the door, followed by a melodic feminine voice. “Rose? Rose, are you okay? I saw your blog, I'm just coming to check on you.”

Rose groaned and pushed herself up, clutching her stomach as new pains stabbed at her. Hunched forward in discomfort, she made her way to the front door, using the wall for support. “Just a tick, Martha, I'm comin'.”

She opened the door. Martha Jones was standing there with a large vase of pink and yellow flowers in her arms, and a huge smile on her face, but her smile instantly faded when she saw Rose. “Oh my god, Rose, you look awful.”

Rose made a scoffing sound, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, thanks for that, I wouldn't have known otherwise.”

Martha grimaced. “Sorry. Really though, are you okay? I don't like your color.”

Rose shuffled to the couch, her arms wrapped around her stomach. “I'm fine. I mean I'm not fine, but I'll be fine. It's just food poisoning.” She glanced at the bouquet, then Martha, raising one eyebrow. “Thanks for the flowers.”

“Oh, they're not mine,” Martha said, setting the cheery bouquet down on the coffee table. “Found them sitting in front of your door. There's a card, too.” She fished it out from amongst the blooms and handed it to Rose.

Rose glanced at the smooth, plain white envelope, then opened the flap and pulled the card out.

> Hello, Rose! I couldn't stop thinking about how terrible you must feel, so I decided to send you some flowers. I hope you don't mind, and I especially hope that they brighten your day. It was a bit tricky, 'cause I don't actually know your address. But the florist said you were in their system, so I asked them to send the flowers along. Please feel better soon. I'll email in the morning to check in. Yours, the Doctor.

Rose smiled wanly. _Guess I should check my email._

“So? Who's your secret admirer?” Martha grinned, sitting on the arm of the couch next to Rose. “Don't tell me it's that fellow from the restaurant. That battered chips bloke.”

Rose smacked Martha on the thigh. “Shut up!” Still, she couldn't hide the hint of a smile.

“It is! Batter Fry!” Martha giggled.

“His name is John,” Rose corrected.

“Yeah, all right, John then.”

“We've been emailing.”

Martha grinned as she bit her bottom lip. “Rose, that's fantastic! Is he nice? He'd better be nice, or he'll have me to condend with.”

Rose rolled her eyes again. “'Course he's nice. You think I'd go for a wanker like Jimmy again? Naw, I learned my lesson.”

“Good.”

Rose groaned, clutching her stomach again with a shiver. “Ughhhhh,” she moaned in frustration. “God, my stomach hurts so bad.”

Martha frowned, brow stitched in concern. She reached over and felt Rose's forehead. “My god, Rose, you're burning up,” Martha said.

“Well obviously, I'm sick.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” Rose moaned.

“Where does it hurt the worst?”

Rose gestured to her right side.

“Let me feel,” Martha insisted. Rose gingerly moved her arm out of the way and Martha reached down and palpated her lower right side, eliciting an immediate groan of pain that caused Rose to double over. “God, Rose, you might have an appendicitis. Let's get your coat, sweetheart, you're coming with me.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a small world after all.

Jack picked up on the third ring.

“Yeah, this is Jack.”

“Hi, Jack, it's Martha.”

“Hey, what's up?”

She sighed, causing the earpiece to crackle with distortion. “I'm just callin' to cancel tomorrow night. Sorry!”

Jack frowned. “Aww, honey, what's wrong?”

“It's my friend, Rose, she's in hospital with appendicitis. She needs someone to help her out when she comes home tomorrow.”

Jack winced. “Yikes. Well... that's totally understandable.”

“Yeah, she thought it was food poisoning at first, but apparently not. Too bad, she had some really big plans tomorrow night, but now that's all off. Guess we both lost out.”

Wait... food poisoning... big plans... “Hang on... what did you say your friend's name was?”

“Rose.”

“Oh my god,” Jack chuckled incredulously. “She's not a food critic by any chance, is she?”

Martha laughed in surprise. “Yeah, she is, how'd you know that? You read her blog or something?”

Jack somehow managed to laugh and groan at the same time. “Well, if it isn't a small world after all. Rose Tyler. The food blogger.”

“Yeah, Rose Tyler. What's this all about?” Martha's voice was starting to sound strained with curiosity.

“Martha, she's the reason I asked you and Mickey out in the first place.”

“What?”

“It was a diversion date.”

“Diversion? What the hell are you on about, I thought you had a bloke you wanted us to meet.”

“Well, yeah, I do. But my friend, he asked me to occupy his sister for the night, to keep her away from _his restaurant_ while he does a lock in with a certain _food critic_ you know.”

Martha gasped. “Oh my god! Batter Fry!”

“Huh?”

“The chips man! He's the chips man, you know the chips man?? John Smith, physicist and chef extraordinaire?”

Jack guffawed. “Yeah, he's only my best friend. He's beside himself with worry. Hasn't heard from Rose all day.”

“Yeah, well she's been a bit busy,” Martha said. Jack could practically hear the eye roll.

“Is she gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, they caught it before it ruptured. Routine, just sorta takes the wind out of your sails, you know?”

“Well, I'll let John know to cancel tomorrow. At least he won't have to worry anymore. He thought he might have said something or done something that she didn't like. He sent her flowers this morning, then started wondering if she might have found it too forward.”

Martha chuckled. “Oh no, she loved them. I was there, actually. Beautiful! Great big arrangement of pink and yellow wildflowers.”

Jack grinned. “Good man!”

“Hey listen... Jack.... this chip guy, he's not gonna mess about with Rose is he? 'Cause I swear to god, if he hurts her...”

“God no, Martha. Never happen. I'd trust him to the end of the universe and back, he wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“Good. Just... Rose has been through some things with another bloke. She needs someone kind.”

Jack sighed. “Ugh... Sorry to hear that.” There was a brief pause. “But honest to god, she won't find anyone kinder.”

-

> Hello, Rose
> 
> I'm really concerned about you. I hope your silence just means you're getting lots of rest.

  
John stared at the blinking cursor, a sigh building slowly in his chest before he released it, closing his eyes and rubbing them behind his glasses before returning his fingers to the keyboard. 

> Perhaps I've been too attentive. I enjoy our emails, and I do tend to be enthusiastic about my interests. I've been told I'm a bit too passionate at times. But Rose... I'm not sure how it's possible after only a few days, but I've grown rather fond of you, to be honest. I've never met anyone quite like you. You're so... you. You're just who you are, without affectation or ego. You're lovely and sweet and kind. I just... in a world like this, it's difficult not to become hardened against our fellow humans. But your openhearted manner, it's like a breath of fresh air after living in a cellar your whole life. And I guess maybe my excitement got the better of me, to have met someone like you, and in such a random way. I've wondered for some time now if the universe has it in for me, but maybe she loves me after all.

  
John chewed the inside of his bottom lip, rereading his words half a dozen times or so before groaning in frustration and deleting the whole thing. He slammed his laptop shut and pushed his chair back, wandering over to the couch and flopping down on the cushions as he snatched the remote off the coffee table and turned on the telly without enthusiasm.

His phone began to ring.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read on!

Rose slowly opened her eyes, squinting and blinking against the light. She felt like she had just taken the longest, most glorious nap of her life, and the cobwebs of sleep still had her suspended and bundled up warm.

Then the steady beeping started bleeding into her consciousness. It must be her alarm clock. She tried to roll over and found herself inhibited by I.V. lines and wires attached to various appendages, and reality came flooding back at once. She was in the hospital, having an appendectomy.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Martha's smiling voice said softly.

_Shit._

She closed her eyes again and groaned.

“Don't worry, the whole thing went off without a hitch,” Martha said. Rose opened her eyes again and found Martha standing over her. “They want to keep you overnight though.”

“Super,” Rose said groggily, then sighed. “Will you help me sit up?”

“'Course!” Martha adjusted the bed and helped Rose prop pillows behind her back. “It's all pretty routine, and healing goes quick. You know they don't even cut you open anymore, they just go in through a little hole and suck it out.”

“Thanks, Martha, that's great, I totally needed that mental picture.”

“Here,” Martha said, ignoring her remark as she handed Rose a tiny cup with pills inside. “Take these. Antibiotics.” She held out some water. “You'll get a prescription when you check out. I'll stay with you for a couple days, make sure you're okay on your own.”

“Thanks,” Rose said meekly, popping the pills and washing them down. “I appreciate it, really.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” Martha smiled.

Rose smiled. “You know, I rather like the special perks of being best friends with a doctor.”

Martha laughed. “Oh, humor's back already, good! You'll be better in no time.”

-

 

John tapped the screen and held the phone up to his ear. “Yeah, Jack?”

“Dinner's off, Doc. Sorry.”

John's brow furrowed and he sat up. “Umm... uhh... sorry, what?”

“I talked to my friend, Martha. You'll never guess. She's best friends with none other than your very own Rose Tyler.”

“She's not my Rose Tyler, Jack. And what do you mean, dinner's off? Oh god, what did I say?” he groaned and slumped back on the couch.

“No, you idiot, she's in the hospital having an appendectomy.”

John leaped out of his chair. “What?!”

“She's fine, it's not a big deal, but she won't be up for a night out.”

Before John realized what he was doing he had one arm in his coat and was grabbing his Converse from the corner by the door, ear pinning the phone to his shoulder. “Which hospital?”

“How should I know?”

John gasped, incredulous. “You didn't ask??” He sat down and started putting on his shoes. The phone slipped free and clattered on the floor. “Bollocks!” He grabbed the phone and put it back to his ear.

“Jeez, relax, John!”

“Sorry,” he sighed, pulling himself together. “Look, can you find out where she is? I've got to see her.”

“I'll give Martha a ring. Give me half an hour, I'm just stepping into a meeting, but I'll call her as soon as I'm out. Why don't you meet me at my place?”

“Right, yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Thanks, Jack.”

He hung up and set his phone on the couch, running his hands anxiously through his hair. He realized he was holding his breath, and blew it out in a puff of wind, then set about tying his shoes and putting his coat on the rest of the way, grabbing his keys, wallet, and phone and rushing out the door.

 

-

 

“I'm gonna ring my friend, Jack,” Martha said as she pulled out her phone.

“Oh?” Rose was sipping on some warm broth. She was hungry, but they weren't quite ready to let her eat yet, not without testing her on some liquids first.

“Yeah, I'm hoping he can bring me some clothes and things, save me the trip.”

Rose nodded, setting the cup down on the food cart with a sigh. “I'm so disappointed about tomorrow. And John will be wondering why I haven't emailed. God, I hope he's not worried. I can't believe I forgot to bring my phone.”

“If you want, I could have Jack stop by your flat and pick it up. Do you still keep the spare key in the back?”

“In the usual spot, yeah. That would be great, would you?”

“Sure, give me a mo'.”

Martha stepped out into the hallway, selecting Jack's profile, and was about to hit call when her phone started buzzing. She smiled in amusement as she read the caller ID, tapping the answer icon.

“Hey, I was just about to call you!” she said.

“You don't say.”

“Yeah. I've got a favor to ask. Are you busy?”

“Nah, I just got out of work. What's up?”

“It's just, I need an overnight bag, and I was hoping maybe you could run to my place and grab me a few things. I'd ask Mickey, but he's with his gran in the country tonight.”

“Not a problem at all, happy to do it.”

“One other thing. In all the rush to get her here, Rose forgot her phone, and she's worried Batter Fry might be thinking the worst.”

“Well, she's not wrong. Although, John's extraordinarily talented at blaming himself for everything.”

“Oh, that's great. Don't go telling Rose that when you get here, she's no slouch herself.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, honey!”

“Right, well, you reckon you could swing by her flat and grab her phone? It's not far from your place.”

“Ha!” She could hear the grin in Jack's voice. “Martha, sweetheart, I'll do you one better.”


	12. Chapter 12

The sound of a key in the lock brought John leaping off the couch for the front door. He had let himself into Jack's flat with the spare key, of course, and it had felt like an eternity waiting for him to get home. He'd even tried to call a couple of times, but Jack had turned off his phone, no doubt due to the work meeting. He grabbed the knob and flung the door open so forcefully that it tore the key out of Jack's hand with a jingle, the keychain and other keys swinging back and forth as it dangled from the keyhole.

Jack stared blankly at the keys, then glanced slowly up at John. “So you're ready to go?”

“What took you so long!” John's eyes bulged with pent nervousness and frustration.

“I told you, I had a meeting! Then I had to stop at my friend's place and pack her a bag. She's gonna stay with Rose and help her out for a couple of days.”

John's shoulders relaxed slightly as he let out a tense sigh. “Sorry. I've been going out of my mind just sitting here.”

“Doc, you need to relax. Having an appendectomy is really not that big a deal most of the time, and Martha assured me she's doing great.”

“I know that,” he said defensively. “I'm just... impatient, okay? ...And maybe a little high strung.”

“A little.”

“A very little,” John said pointedly.

“Well, let's go then,” Jack said, tossing his head at the outer hallway. John stepped out, and Jack locked up behind them.

John glanced at Jack as the walked down the hall towards the exit. “Listen, Jack, I need you to make a stop on the way. Just one quick stop...”

-

Donna sighed and picked up the ringing phone, glancing at the caller ID before answering. “John, I can't talk now, I'm elbow deep in the books.”

“Forget the books, Donna, I need you to do something for me.”

“But I gotta get started on payroll, and I'm already behind,” she whinged. “Can't you get Jack to do it?”

“I would, but he doesn't know how to work the fryer. And he's also with me.”

“Don't tell me you want me to make you supper, because that is not happening. You're a big boy.”

“No! This isn't about me. It's my... this... someone I know, she's in the hospital, and I want to bring her something decent to eat. But I'm kind of in a hurry.”

There was a lengthy pause before Donna finally sputtered, “You know a girl?”

“Yes, I know a girl!”

She grinned, leaning back in her chair. “Is she pretty?”

“Donna, shut up. I'm in a hurry.”

“Well, that's a funny way to talk to someone you want a favor from.”

John paused. “Sorry.” He sounded humble enough.

“Right, you want me to cook dinner for your friend?”

“Well, you don't have to do it personally. Who's in the kitchen tonight?”

“No, it's okay, I don't mind.”

“I thought you were elbow deep in the books!”

“Yeah, but this is for a girl! I didn't know you knew a girl!” She grinned.

“Right. Fine. Whatever. Just... listen carefully. I have a menu written down, and some recipes, it's in the top drawer of the filing cabinet.”

Donna crossed the office and rifled through the contents of the drawer. “Okay, think I found it.” She scanned the papers, frowning. “You want me to make all this... right now?”

“There won't be time to make all of it, so just do the main dish. Skip the starters and all that nonsense. But I've got the dessert already prepped in the fridge. Pack it all up for takeaway, I'll be there soon. And Donna?”

“What?”

“Under no circumstances are you permitted to alter that recipe, you got it?”

A defensive squeak escaped her throat. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Donna... promise me you'll follow that recipe to the letter.”

She sighed. “Fine, whatever.”

“Good. Thanks, Donna. I owe you for this.”

-

“Ugh... this is awful...” Rose sneered at the plate of tepid, sticky pasta, and the cold side dish of soggy broccoli with some sort of disgusting orange sauce on it, which was probably supposed to be cheese flavored, but a reluctant taste test left that particular question unanswered. “How do they expect people to get better on food like this? If you can even call it food.” She pushed the plate away and reached for the jell-o cup, peeling the foil back and plunging a spoon in. “I guess it's jell-o for dinner.”

“If you want, I can grab some takeaway,” said Martha. “There's a chinese down the block, won't take a mo'.”

“I thought you weren't supposed to bring in your own food.”

“Well, technically no, but I won't tell if you won't.” She winked.

Rose grinned. “Well... it would be a lot nicer than...” she grimaced at her plate of glop again.

“Say no more!” Martha stood and wheeled the food cart back. “Here, I won't make you keep looking at it,” she said with a laugh. She grabbed her handbag and slung it over her shoulder. “Be right back!”

“Thanks, Martha!”

Martha slipped out the door and walked down the stark white halls of the hospital ward. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her call log, looking for the restaurant's number.

“Hey, Martha!”

She glanced up and saw Jack walking towards her, followed closely by a man she could only assume was the infamous John Smith. “Jack! Hi! I was starting to wonder if you were ever gonna make it.”

He slung her overnight bag off his shoulder and handed it to her. “Yeah, I had an extra stop.”

Martha took the bag wordlessly, glancing past Jack at the man that stood slightly behind him. “Is this Batter Fry?” She grinned.

The man furrowed his brow in confusion. “What?”

Jack stepped aside. “Oh! Sorry. Martha, this is John. John, Martha.”

They shook hands. John quirked an eyebrow. “Batter Fry?”

Martha giggled. “Sorry. It's what I've taken to calling you.”

John grinned crookedly and chuckled. “I've been called worse. How's Rose?” There was a nervous quaver in his voice.

“She's good!” Martha smiled reassuringly. “You ready to meet her?”

John grinned briefly. “Yeah, I mean... is that okay? Can I see her?”

“Yeah, she just sent me for takeaway though.”

“Oh, don't worry about that,” John said, holding up a paper bag.

Martha grinned. “Oh good! You thought ahead!” She bit her bottom lip. “Hang on. I have an idea.”

-

Rose was sipping on her styrofoam cup of tea and flipping through the telly (and finding absolutely nothing on, of course), when an unfamiliar person knocked on the jamb of her open door and stepped across the threshold.

“Hi, I'm Jack. Jack Harkness, Martha's friend.”

“Oh!” Rose relaxed a little. “Hi, I'm Rose. Martha just stepped out for some food, but you're welcome to sit and wait for her.”

“Thanks,” he said, lowering himself to the nearest chair. “I can't wait long, I've got dinner plans, but maybe she'll be back soon enough for me to talk to her.” He glanced at his watch. “Oh! Almost forgot. I brought your phone.” He fished it out of his pocket and handed it to her.

She grabbed it eagerly, “God, thank you so much! I need to check my messages, nobody knows I'm here.”

“No problem, no problem,” he said, smiling. “Hey, I hope you feel better soon.”

“Thanks,” she said with a little smile, punching in her phone password, then scrolled to her email. Oh god... there were several messages from John. She quickly read through them, her chest tightening anxiously as she felt the worry in his words. “Oh, Doctor, no,” she muttered under her breath before hastily hitting the reply icon.

> _Doctor, I am so sorry I haven't replied to your emails. The truth is, I ended up in hospital with an appendicitis! I guess it wasn't food poisoning after all. Anyway, please don't worry about me, I'm doing much better. They're sending me home tomorrow. I'm so sorry to have worried you._

  
She tapped the send icon.

Four feet away from her, where Jack Harkness sat quietly, she heard the tell-tale chirp of a phone. The kind of chirp one hears when they receive a message.

Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone glancing at it. “Oh, this isn't my phone. I must have grabbed my friend's by mistake. Hey, Doc?” he hollered.

John stepped into the room.

“You've got an email,” Jack said, tossing the phone to him. John caught it deftly, glancing at Rose, unable to keep the concern off his face, even though he smiled.

“Hi, Rose.”


	13. 13

Rose's hand flew to her mouth, her cheeks blooming red. “Doctor!”

He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Hehe... yeah. Umm... is this okay? Me, here?”

She grinned, biting her bottom lip and nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, it's good.”

“Well, I gotta go!” Jack announced abruptly, standing. “Have a seat, Doc.” He strolled past him and paused just long enough to say, “I'll catch you two lovebirds later.” He winked and disappeared through the door.

Rose and John both laughed, blushing and avoiding each others' gazes. He was about to sit when Martha rushed in.

“Hi, Rose! Here's your food.” She set John's paper bag on the food cart, unable to contain a giggle. “I've... er... got something busy to do. I'll be back later, yeah? Have fun, kiddos!” She grinned, then batted her eyes at John teasingly before hurrying out of the room.

“Oh my god,” Rose giggled. “So... our friends are friends.”

“Turns out,” John laughed, hesitantly stepping further into the room. He scooted Jack's now empty chair closer to the bed and sat down. “I hope you don't mind me coming here. It's just... when I found out...”

“It's okay,” Rose said with a smile. “I'm glad you came.” She started running her fingers through her hair and smoothing it down. “God, I must look a mess.”

“You look beautiful.” He smiled. “Er... listen... I know you can't come out tomorrow night, so I brought you something. It's what I was going to make you tomorrow.” He reached for the paper bag.

Rose sighed. “I'm so sorry about tomorrow. What rotten luck.”

“Hey, it's okay,” he said, leaning forward a little. He looked like he was going to take her hand, but hesitated. “What matters is that you get better.”

She smiled and reached for his hand. “Thanks. Doctor.” Her smile spread into a grin when he took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “I'm on the mend, really. In fact, I'm starving! And this hospital food is positively inedible!”

John glanced at the food cart with a sickly frown. “So... what is it exactly?”

Rose laughed. “I don't know, to be honest. I selected Pasta Dinner from the menu, and this is what came.”

John shuddered. “Well, hopefully mine will be a little more appetizing.” He let go of her hand and opened the bag, pulling out takeaway boxes and laying them out on the cart. He grabbed the hospital dishes and shuffled them over to the sink area on the opposite side of the room, then wheeled the cart so that the tray attachment was in front of Rose. “Here we are! Consider this a preview of our first proper date. Er... if you want.”

She grinned. “Of course I want! Thank you, Doctor. This is really sweet.”

John breathed a sigh of relief. “Good! Okay, so first...” he whipped the lid off the first box.

Rose squeaked in delight. “Batter fried chips!”

“Of course!” John grinned. “How could I not?”

Rose dug into the chips hungrily as John took the lid off the second box. “And here's the fish you should have had,” he said. “My own recipe. The fish you had at my restaurant was actually my sister's.” He grimaced.

Rose picked up her fork and flaked away a bit of fish, then scooped it up and studied its appearance before placing the bite in her mouth, closing her eyes. An explosion of flavors hit her tongue, savory herbs and seasonings working together to enhance the delicate flavor of the fish without overpowering it. It was excellently cooked, the flaky texture supported by the crunch of the breading. Not greasy or soggy at all. It was, in a word, perfect.

She opened her eyes and found John watching her with the hint of a smile on his face. He didn't look worried or eager, like chefs often did when she tasted their food in their presence. In fact, he seemed rather confident. “Doctor, this is gorgeous!” she finally said. “Why on earth isn't this on your menu?”

“Because my sister, Donna, was rather upset with me for not letting her put her batter fried cod on the menu, so I... sorta fibbed a little and told her I didn't want to serve fish at all.”

Rose laughed. “So that fish I ordered...?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “That was Donna's. We talked about it though, and we finally came to an understanding.”

“Which is?”

“Oh, my fish recipe is going to be available starting next week. Already ordered new menus.” He grinned.

“Well, you'll certainly be seeing me there for lunch,” she said, eating another large bite. “God, this is the best fish I've ever had, I think.”

“Oh, I don't know about that. It's probably just because you're so hungry.” Still, he couldn't keep that proud idiot grin off his face, and his cheeks had turned a little pinker. “You know, in the interest of full disclosure, that's my recipe, but my sister's the one who cooked it. She's really an excellent cook most of the time. It's just that bloody cod...”

Rose giggled through a bite. “Please tell her thank you for me. I'm actually rather glad I ordered that cod.”

“Oh?”

“Well, would you have emailed me if I hadn't left you that review?”

John stuck out his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Well... there's still the question of service.”

“True." She swallowed her bite. "Anyway, it all worked out in my favor, one way or the other.”

“Mine, too.” He smiled.

She finished the fish and chips with surprising speed, then eyed the last takeaway box with anticipation.

“I made this especially for you,” he said, lifting the lid off the box to reveal a sticky toffee pudding in the shape of a rose.

“Ah!” Rose squeaked excitedly. “Sticky toffee pudding! And it's a rose!” She laughed.

“Well, you were looking for it on my menu. I'd never actually made sticky toffee pudding before, so this probably isn't the best you've ever had. But I've been practicing all week.” He scuffed his shoe on the linoleum nervously.

“It's a shame to eat it, it's so pretty,” she said, biting her bottom lip. “Thank you, Doctor. No one's ever gone to this much trouble for me.”

“Rose Tyler, it's my honor,” he said, reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze.

She ate every last bite of the sweet, dense cake, and although she had to admit she might have been a little biased, she really did think it was the best sticky toffee pudding she had ever eaten. When it made an appearance on the new menu at The Blue Box, it topped the dessert list under the title of Sweet Rose.

-end-


End file.
